


Memoro

by AcanthaMD



Series: Robyn Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Sexual Content, Time Skips, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcanthaMD/pseuds/AcanthaMD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hot zing of her own biotics kicked her full in the teeth, the hot magnesium flame of it snapping forwards. They circled each other, arms either side with palms open. Flickers of tiny blue sparks ebbing forwards from their fingers as they stared each other down getting ready for a fight.<br/>“Really?” Kaidan asked, he sounded incredulous and angry (finally!), but his eyes betrayed that he was excited. As if he too had been waiting. “You want to do this now?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the bleak city of dust

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a writing exercise; I wanted to work with a dark female Shepard from the Earth Origin and work through relationships from her perspective. It may contain several pairings as well as time jumps. I just wanted to work with a gritty scenario with a female Shepard whose internal machinations are entirely different from the calm collected façade on the outer surface. There will be angst, sex, loss and blood. Hope you enjoy. (No beta as of yet)

**Memoro**

 

 

In the beginning, there had been rejection.

 

As a young child she had made the excuses, idolizing the idea of a mother. Her mother was princess locked in a far away tower beyond the winking stars that she could see at night, and one day she would come for her and save her from the slums. One day, someone would care enough about her to _hold_ her, make her feel safe, to tell her that she was loved.

 

The first tangible childhood memory Shepard had; was of herself sitting alone. Waiting for someone – _anyone_ to rescue her.

 

In the beginning all she could see was the landscape of a bleak grey world, trees of concrete and greasy yellow lights. The rain pouring down the sides of the man-made jungle that she dared to call her home, whilst her stomach clawed at her insides with the pain of hunger.

 

Her world had dragged from day to day, a struggle to survive. In a world where adults took no pity, she had run from one hiding hole to the next like an animal.

 

On Earth, it was not uncommon in the slum cities for whole sections of the metropolis to be filled with ‘rat runs’ as they were sometimes called. The forgotten children of Red Sand addicts, the parentless offspring of adults killed by gang warfare, the illegitimate offspring of sex workers that could not afford to keep them, or even children sold into Batarian smuggling rings to pay off unspeakable debts.

 

She had been abandoned to fend for herself. She had no name, no history, no memory of anything else and as the rain had slid down the sides of the concrete world she called home she did not question it.

 

In those perilous early years of life she had somehow managed to pull through, a young child growing older.  She had been streetwise, thin and wiry but strong. Distinguishable from the other ‘rats’, for her raw biotic talent, the other children in her district had looked towards her as a leader. And before she was twelve years old she had gathered around her a collection of children and young adults some even six years her elder. Seemingly awed by her innate ability to command and inspire others her to follow her, never questioning her authority.

 

Her name then had been simple: Red, for the fiery colour of her hair and spirit.

 

In those years when she had run wild and free, paying heed to no man, and laws she had abandoned the idea of a mother and father. Instead she had sprung into being, like a God. Formed from the every earth itself, she had invented stories for the other children to hear of her creation. How she had fallen from the sky in a blaze of blue light. The offspring of some powerful biotic race that would one day return and purge the world of all mortals. She made believe that she was indomitable, she more than half believed the stories herself even as she told them. Her imagination working overtime inventing the supernatural, and they had reveled in it.

 

In those days they had been wild, almost feral. She would lead her followers into battle, rivaling other rat gangs for food and precious little resources in the run down slum of their city. Things like shelter, clothes and ammunition. A rock can become a deadly weapon when flung by a biotic field. She had been a fearless warrior; and a reckless leader, for life and death seemed a sport.

 

In a child’s mind where no actions have consequences and they lived from one moment to the next, they wreaked havoc with no compass of morality to guide them.

 

At the age of fourteen she had been swept up into the larger gangs, her considerable biotic power had made her a valuable asset. Not only was she a strong leader but a tough solider, she gained the attention of some lesser merc groups that made cities like that their home. She had been hot headed and strong willed. Why shouldn’t she join them? She owed nothing to anyone, and the world of violence and selfishness was all she knew.

 

Her running with the gangs earned her the nickname ‘Red Riding Hood’ for she was lithe and deadly, and now fourteen her form had inconveniently developed to look more womanly. It had been an unwanted change in her body, her features becoming less elfin like and unisex to take on a strong feminine slant with dark lashes and a full mouth.  

 

Men took more interest in her in a way that they had never before when she had been a wiry child, a fact she greatly disliked. Although a boy she had grown close to throughout her younger years (almost five years her senior) whom had once been a haven of protection during those cold rainy nights, assured her it was normal and that the cyclical bleeding was also natural.

 

They had once together after raiding a shipment containing illicit drugs taken them together, in the blithe curiosity of youth. Wanting to know more about her own body, about his body. To find out what it was that adults did. After all, she had seen dogs engage in sex, and it did not appear difficult.

 

The intoxication made things easier, if not blurry and difficult to recall. But he had touched her there. Lying on her back staring at the ceiling, without making a sound as he did so, thinking about the animals she had seen engage in it. Not to her surprise it had hurt but that was something she was used to, and as far as she was concerned that was how it was meant to be.

 

Around her, the concrete city would burn. The person she had been, both the abandoned child and the wild teenager would eventually escape, into a world that was threatening to end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Emptied out by a single word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shepard displays the fact that she has always had problems controlling her temper.

 

Emptied out by a single word

 

* * *

 

 

“You want to apply for the N training program?” Commander Juiren had almost spat his coffee all over at the data pad in his hand after she had spoken.

 

Lt Shepard had grit her teeth, preventing herself from grinding them together. She had refrained from giving the answer which first sprung to mind that being ‘No, I was joking’ and had responded instead with an emotionless: “Yes, sir.”

 

Safe, neutral response. Don’t push it, now was a time to be cautious.

 

“Is there a problem?”

 

Juiren had paused, obviously he had been considering his response. His eyes had flicked between her and the data pad, back to her face, the words on the screen, then back to her face again.

 

“Shepard,” he had said carefully, “Do you really think that you are the right sort of person to put yourself forward for a program like this?”

 

She had cocked her head slightly to one side. “I’m sorry, I don’t follow sir?”

 

“Shepard,” Juiren was using his negotiation voice, she could hear him trying to placate her.

 

“Lieutenant, the N programs are for soldiers of the highest caliber. It is a physically grueling and mentally exhausting program, they have been known to break many fine candidates. I’m just not sure this would be the right thing for you to do.”

 

She had taken a sharp intake of breath and steadied herself, what he actually meant was she didn’t have the right sort of ‘breeding’ for him to feel comfortable putting forward her recommendation to the board who chose candidates for the N program.

 

Half of her couldn’t blame him, the other half was _incensed_.

 

“Now Shepard,” Juiren had said in the same negotiating voice he had used earlier, he had obviously caught the look in her eye.

 

“I don’t want you to take this personally, you’re a fine soldier, more than fine. I’m just not sure this would be the right move for you…considering….”

 

The word had hung uncomfortably, she had felt as if she were liable to explode. As if he viewed her as being unstable. Like some sort of faulty machine, that perhaps the N program would tip her over the edge and she’d go back to being the savage undisciplined child she had been on Earth. She had swallowed down the feeling of boiling hot indignation that had been bubbling up through her gut. Did they imagine she could just flip a switch and she’d revert back to her wild youth at the slightest provocation?

 

“Considering my history you mean, sir?” Direct, confrontational. That was Shepard alright.

 

He had paused, and had carefully eyed a fixture in the room as if consulting it for what to say next.

 

“All I mean is that perhaps it would not be best suited to _you_.”

 

She had pressed her lips into a thin line, “Perhaps sir, I should be allowed to make that decision myself.”

 

What she had yearned to say was ‘Just because I’m not a navy brat, because you’re worried I’d have some sort of relapse. Because my childhood isn’t respectable enough for you to want to stick your neck out and write a recommendation for me. I am the best damn officer on this ship; I am the best damn solider here. I am unstoppable in a firefight, soldiers follows my lead **without** question, I have more than earned my right to apply.’

 

She had said none of this, her arms crossed behind her, back straight. Looking back at him, hard.

 

Juiren had scrutinized back at her face as she had stood there from what had seemed an age. He had looked tired and somewhat internally conflicted himself. Eventually he had passed a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes.

 

“Very well Lieutenant, I’ll consider it.”

 

He had seen the expression on her face change at his words and hastily added,

 

“ _Consider_ it mind, it’s not a damn promise? Understood?”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been later on in the mess hall that she had felt the first repercussions of her talk with the Commander. She had felt something was up when Thomas Benhall, her senior officer crossed the mess to speak to her.

 

As a rule Benhall didn’t speak to her unless he _had to_ , or to sneer at her. There was bad air between the two of them, ever since she had used her biotics to lay him out flat in a training session in front of the whole crew.

 

Shepard was his junior officer but only _just_. He was five years her senior and acted as if she _owed_ him his authority; despite the fact she thought he was incompetent.

 

It was a hard opinion, in reality Benhall was a good solider, but in comparison to Shepard he didn’t hold up well, and she suspected he disliked feeling as though he was being usurped by someone who was both younger than him _and_ a woman.

 

He had held her in some contention as the name Benhall had a resounding impact within the Alliance; he was from a wealthy family of not only distinguished soldiers and scientists but also _benefactors_ of the System Alliance.

 

Benhall viewed Shepard as someone who was **lucky** to be here. Shepard viewed Behnall as a git.

 

“Hey, Escobar.” He had shouted at her from across the room.

 

Shepard didn’t need to turn her head to know who was trying to get her attention. The nickname ‘Escobar’ had been invented by Benhall himself, it had once belonged to a famous Columbian drug lord.

 

She had ignored him.

 

“Escobar!”

 

Shepard had continued to pick at her rations, forcefully squidging a cooked onion beneath her fork, imagining it to be one of Benhall’s eyeballs.

 

A sensible person would have left her alone, the level of chatter in the mess had dropped dramatically by the time Benhall made his way to her table, and the room held it’s breath waiting for the events to unfold.

Bets on the table people.

 

The lieutenant could be hot tempered at the best of times, and Benhall was unbearably arrogant when around her.

 

“Hey, Escobar.” He had repeated, now at point blank range she could no longer avoid him.

 

“1St Lieutenant Benhall.” Shepard had managed to grind out coldly, the onion now a fine pulpy mess and smeared artistically across her plate.

 

“So I hear you had a chat with the Commander this afternoon.”

 

Shepard had felt a little dagger of ice slice nauseatingly through her gut at his words, his words decoded meant ‘the crew is gossiping and I am going to humiliate you now’.

 

The wise thing to have done would have been to have left the mess immediately, but Shepard although honest, loyal, determined and tireless was also hot headed and combative. Instead she jutted out her chin, and turned her head to glare back at Benhall.

 

“What of it?”

 

“I hear you want to be an N officer, is that right Escobar?”

 

The mess had become deathly quiet, excited and interested looks darting her way. She had said nothing, and her refusal to respond seemed to be all the conformation he needed to ascertain what he had heard was in fact true.

 

“I’m afraid they don’t let people like _you_ into one of the Alliances most prestigious programs, after all anyone sane would be worried you’d snap and try to kill all of the other candidates on the program.”

  

“Really Benhall?” She had bit back, “I think you’re just jealous that I wouldn’t have to pay my way onto an N program and then waste everyone’s time and money by being a loser and a dropout.”

 

Eyewitnesses in the mess had been unable to identify who had started the fight; just that food and chairs had gone flying across the room at a frightening speed.

 

Their dressing down had been… humiliating to say the least; Juiren had been both annoyed and exasperated. He told Shepard in no few words that if he ever caught her putting another _toe out of line_ she could forget her N recommendation _forever_ and furthermore he would make it his lifelong goal to ensure that she never got within a light year of the program if she ever did anything like that again.

 

She was to follow orders and to behave like an Alliance solider and a lady, not a God-Damn fucking hooligan.

 

Shepard had bitten the inside of her cheek, she had felt hot indignation in her cheeks at his words, convinced that her own scolding was far more severe than Benhall’s had been.

 

To summarize her lecture had boiled down to: be a good girl, do as you’re told and behave.  “No sir, I agree sir. I’m not a God-Damn lady, sir, I’m a disgrace, sir, not fit to serve the Alliance, sir. I’ll _never_ make it to the N program, sir. “ 

 

* * *

 

 

The SSV Tokyo had been a crusier ship, more firepower and more protection than a frigate could have given. The Tokyo… it had been a good ship. Regardless of whether or not it had been able to hold a candle to the Normandy, it had been the place where she had first served under Admiral Anderson as his executive officer. Her first meeting with the Admiral had been for want of a better word, tense.

 

Her service history was excellent if not bloody (hell, they had nicknamed her the butcher of Torfan for a reason) but her background was far from exemplary, and the fact that see had never known her parents had seemed to have given her some leeway for an excuse regarding the whole situation. Senior members were more inclined to give her ‘pity’ and the benefit of the doubt after glancing through her service record.

 

Sure, she had been mixed up with groups that had traded highly illegal substances through the backstreets of Earth, she had been implicated in several violent crimes during that time too – but she had never been caught. There was even the possibility that she had been involved in that vicious coup that ended in several peoples death, but again, nothing had ever been proved so it had been overlooked. After all she was an N7 graduate like Anderson, one of the best and Shepard always got the job done where others couldn’t, by **any** means possible. Where other’s failed, she had triumphed.

 

She had remembered squaring herself up before her first meeting with Anderson, convincing herself of the same arguments she had had to use again and again throughout her career with the Alliance.

 

She had an unusual history yes, but she was **more** than capable. She was a woman who had served with distinction, an N7 graduate, a commander, natural born leader.

 

She had been caught off guard therefore when Admiral Anderson after the polite introductions had been made, had told her: He didn’t give a damn what her record said.

 

She had been taken back.

 

“I don’t care what this says,” he had indicated to the data pad in his hand. “As far as I am concerned your record starts here today, under my command. All I’m interested in Shepard; is whether or not you can get the job done.”

 

He had paused to look at her, her green grey eyes steely and hard set, a face that had been used to tough times.

 

“It says here,” he continued folding his arms, “that you are one of the best. Are you?”

 

Her response coming from between dry lips was inaudible.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Yes,” this time her answer came bitingly clear, “Sir.”

 

“And why is that, Shepard?”

 

“Because, whatever you want done I’ll do it, sir.”

 

“Sounds reckless to me.” Anderson’s arms were still crossed, “There are mixed feelings about you Shepard, some reckon you’re too aggressive, too eager to push boundaries and be unconventional. There are others that disagree with your personal history, not distinguished enough to be given the position you’ve managed to reach, then there are others like me who don’t give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks.”

 

He had stared her down, his eyes were kind she had thought, but stubborn, almost as stubborn as her own in fact. They stood there for a moment in silence; her feet firmly planted shoulders breadth apart as if she were immovable. Finally with no comment forthcoming she broke the quiet herself.

 

“What do you think, sir?”

 

He had actually smiled when she asked him; not a reaction she had been anticipating.

 

“I’m not going to hold you a hostage to your past Shepard, you’re on my ship under my command. If you say you’re one of the best than I suggest you prove it, I’m not going to judge you for things I have no right passing judgment on.

Hell I don’t even know you, you’re here because you’re N7 and you’re a distinguished officer. I’m not going to play political bullshit here, if you think you’re up to the task then I’m happy to give you the opportunity to try.”

 

“Sir, yes sir.” Her response had been short, almost clipped.

 

She’d had no desire to reveal the fact that she had been shocked by what he had just said, she had been used to fighting her commanding officer for their respect. Having to continually prove herself in order for people to realize that she was **serious** , she wasn’t the ragged girl from Earth, she was an Alliance solider and a damn fucking good one.

 

Anderson had given her an appraising look that had swept from the neat bob cut of her bright red hair, her swarthy complexion and her resolute grey eyes with some approval. She was of average height for a woman with an athletic figure; her feet planted firmly apart had given her somewhat, the appearance of a man.

 

She had a sort of masculine swagger as well he had noted when she had walked into his office. He was glad he had gone on his gut instinct with her.

 

“Very well Shepard, dismissed.”

   

* * *

 

Two and a half months after her dressing down from Juiren, a ‘run of the mill’ recon mission went horribly wrong when the squad Shepard was with had been pinned down by a Batarian pirates out in the terminus systems.

 

Benhall who had been leading the team, had laid down his weapons in order for his officers to be spared and had allowed himself to be dragged off to the enemy camp to be tortured and killed for information on the Alliance’s movements within the Skyllian Verge.

 

But Shepard hadn’t been labeled a fighter for no reason, perhaps it’d been some guilt on her part that had made her so determined to rescue him. As if she had felt Benhall had made the decision to sacrifice himself because she had shouted at him in the mess that he had bought his way into the Alliance.

 

Perhaps he had felt guilty about mocking and belittling her as he had raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. After all he had only been the 1st Lieutenant not the Commander as he had lead them to believe, and by the time the Batarian’s would work out the truth his own squad would hopefully be off planet and safe.

 

Shepard had talked the rest of the squad round, arguing they still had heavy weapons and one or two snipers among them. She had been a blaze of energy and confidence and it had rubbed off on them, after all she had always been something to see in a firefight, and she had gone into the camp in full assault gear in the middle of the night. The rest of the squad creating a distraction so she could haul a semiconscious Benhall to safety over her shoulder, whilst her squad had provided her with cover fire. She wasn’t about to let Benhall die like a god-damned hero, not if she could help it.

 

It had been difficult to say whether or not Juiren’s anger had out weighed his gratitude and pride towards her actions. She was reckless, what had she been _thinking_? She could have gotten them all _killed_!

 

But he’d given her that recommendation before Benhall had been allowed to leave the medbay, and Benall had _never_ called her again Escobar after that. They’d even been friendly towards each other afterwards.

 

Well apart from that time on shore leave when they’d got pissed and he’d kissed her. Then she’d punched him in the face.

 

 

 

 


	3. No man is an Island

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kaidan's description of Rahna is that she is both beautiful and gentle, someone that everyone had loved, including and especially himself. These are not words that Shepard would use to describe herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror she wonders if this matters and why should she care what he thinks anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time skip to Mass Effect 1, pre-virmire. Earth Born, Ruthless background. Moving between scenes that make sense in my head as to why a Renegade Shepard would make some of the decisions she does, and how an outgoing and somewhat gung-ho Shepard would react against Kaidan.

 

 

No man is an Island

 

Her reflections in the shower had brought her to the conclusion that she had scraggy knees; Shepard had an athletic frame, but she lacked the definition of feminine curves. Her body had seemed to be built at angles, sharp elbows, hollow hips, angular shoulders, a flat stomach that when tensed showed the ridges of her abdominals clearly through her skin. Her cleavage was woefully flat and between her small ‘bumps’ one could see the ridge of her sternum, and annoyingly her broad back caused her to be constantly re-adjusting her armour over her chest.

 

It was a constant irritation to her, that the breast plate sat too low over her body, and she would feel a slight spasm of frustration at having to move it slightly to the side and slightly up again every time she reached behind her back to pull her shotgun out. Grating was the word, she doubted Ashley had the same problems – she always looked like she had everything exactly and neatly in place. Where as she on the other hand…

 

Part of the problem of growing up on Earth had been the fact she had been constantly on the move for many years of her youth; she had grown slim and tall. More like a gangly boy with a shock of red hair and grey green eyes than a girl. She could recall when she had been eleven how sharp her ankles had been, the bones jutting out from beneath her shin-bone; and sometimes she’d even been able to make out the outline of her tibia when food had become very scarce.

 

Damn growing up. It had a habit of making you feel inadequate in some way, she’d never wanted men or women to look at her sexually. Her experiences of sex in her youth had been less than enjoyable, something to get over and done with to get to something she wanted. Credits, favours, clothes, rumours, secrets… it had had even occasionally won her the battle, a lot of the gang leaders could be easily manipulated by that kind of thing. What she’d lacked in curves, she had made up with power, confidence and determination. Go with your strengths and run with them, she had always thought. And hell if she wasn’t still running with them now.

 

She had been rescued from her life on the streets, something she had always been grateful for – a debt that could never be repaid in fact, and she had learned that sometimes people just  _give_  without ever expecting anything in return. The view had been so alien to her that she had been instantly and insatiably suspicious of it. Unconditional love? Such a thing didn’t exist, only in the pages of fairy stories and princesses that had been rescued by princes. No prince had ever rescued her and none ever would. But she had been saved by such an unlikely hero, someone who in their right mind should have struck her down, not offered her the hand of friendship.

 

Pausing for a moment she examined her face in the mirror, red strands of hair latching onto her forehead still damp from the warm spray of the shower. Her eyes were deep set, more green than grey this morning. The dark flush of her brown eyelashes painted an interesting picture against her dark skin, she had freckles too. Splashed about her face as if someone had accidentally flicked her with a dirty paintbrush…  she had an even jaw, dimples and then that bright red hair. Was it her mother’s hair? Or her father’s hair? No one had ever come forward to claim her, and perhaps that was because they had no desire to be connected with the ‘Butcher of Torfan’ or that they no longer could step forward. She would never know.

 

“You,” she said to herself in the mirror as she straightened the shoulders of her Alliance uniform. “Are Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy, you don’t have time to be thinking about your scraggy knees.”

 

What was it exactly that had set all this off? She’d never been vain about her appearance, she was probably ‘interesting’ at best and had learned to live with it. Certainly people were more attracted to her for reflected glory then because she was any great beauty in the old romantic sense. She was also a powerful and dominating personality, but then again you had to puff yourself up a bit to get anywhere in the Alliance – especially if you were a girl. Although Udina was perhaps the prime example of hot air going too far – the man’s ego was probably the size of a blimp and would one day deflate like one of his rants.

 

“This is an outrage!” she mumbled to the mirror in what she thought was a good imitation and stuck out her tongue, wondering what it would have looked like if she’d ever gotten it pierced like she’d sometimes seen the Asari do. She imagined Anderson’s dressing down if she ever dared to do so.

 

“Commander get that thing out of your mouth right this second before I rip it out myself!”

 

For a moment her mind nastily questioned as to whether the 1st Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko might have been a fan of body piercings, before she quickly jumped on the thought.

 

Rank fraternization was strictly  **prohibited**  in the Alliance, and for good reason. Look at Torfan; today alive and friendly, the next she might be sending them off to their deaths. Even so, yesterday they had spent a good part of lunch discussing old flames. Well, at least Kaidan had spent a good part of lunch discussing a girl called Rahna, leaving Shepard feeling thoroughly unimpressed. The man was wound tighter than a clock. She  _liked_  Kaidan, he was a  _nice_  person, but he was also madly controlled and sometimes a little hard to reach. She enjoyed talking to him, but sometimes their conversations would spiral off into impregnated silences and self-conscious glances and yet on missions she could hardly stop him from talking. He was  _always_  there on her left, backing her up, offering advice, trying to reason with her, chastising her for being too gung-ho.

 

Well damn it she was  _gung-ho_ , this was not a cowboy movie and she was not Clint Eastwood, it was just her style. She was the first one in and the last one standing.

 

Sometimes she felt like shaking him or dragging him to the bar and getting him blind drunk so he’d finally talk sense to her. He confused her, irritated her, drove her mad, made her laugh, simultaneously cheered her up and but then made her want to sit down an cry all at the same time. It was always three steps forwards with him and two steps back. She didn’t know why his opinion mattered to her so much, why she was almost anxious for his tactical appraisal every time she asked for it. As a rule she  _never_  second guessed herself. Yet there she was, asking him every time and even getting wound up about the answers, but there it was. He said what he thought and she’d just have to live with it.

 

Commander Shepard… she thought to herself. Life had been simpler before she’d done the N training, when sexual tension had ever arisen during her Cadet days she’d simply waited for shore leave, and then they’d fucked.

 

That was it, no questions asked. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, or a partner. She was herself, a single person –  when she had carnal needs she sorted them out; and that was that. But this…it felt like she was navigating a mine field of obstacles.

 

She addressed the mirror again, “Captain Anderson, sir.” She raised her hand to her forehead in a salute to the sink and the shower, “I have a problem with my L-T, sir.”

 

She imagined Anderson, her beloved Anderson, looking at her with both sternness in his brown eyes as well as a little fondness.  “Spit it out XO.” The Anderson in her head responded, “What’s wrong?”

 

“I think I like him, sir.”

 

She imagined his eyebrows going up into his hairline, “And what do you expect me to do about it exactly Commander?”

 

“Nothing sir, I’m Alliance sir. We don’t do that, sir.”

 

“Good to hear it; now get on with your job Commander and bring Saren in.”

 

She let her hand drop back again to the sink, turning the tap on letting the hot water rush down the plug hole into the filters to be recycled round the system again. She didn’t  _like_  Kaidan surely, they had an affinity towards each other both being biotics, both being… er… human. She was probably mistaking feelings of fondness for stronger emotional ties – after all if she’d really wanted to she would have gotten him into bed already wouldn’t she? Then that would have been that, and they had certainly been at cross signals there – in fact he had quite stubbornly told her ‘I’m not that sort of person, ma’am’.  What kind of stuck up nonsense was that? All men went to bed with someone, something or some other, that was just nature.

 

Shepard flipped her fringe, they were good friends and she respected his opinion. He was a seasoned solider, and almost as talented with biotics as she was. It was only natural she feel a little admiration for him – lets not get too carried away.

* * *

 

Later that day an excursion on the Citadel brought them to a near firefight inside Chora’s Den (again, Wrex asked enviously, ‘How come you get all the fun?’).

 

“I’m disappointed,” Ashley told Shepard as they stopped afterwards in the bar for a drink, “I was hoping for some gun fire.”

 

“Well, I could always let off a round if it would make you feel better.” Kaidan offered, using his deadpan voice and giving Shepard one of his rare smiles that caused her heart to flutter horribly in her chest. ‘Goddamn Rahna,’ she thought. ‘I bet she had wonderful knees.’

 

 

 


End file.
